


Old 60's Radicals

by vega_voices



Series: Come Rain, Come Shine [10]
Category: Murphy Brown (TV)
Genre: Gen, Idiots in Love, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15074177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: She had made a difference. She’d changed the course of corporations and political careers with her work. An entire presidential campaign had been altered because of her, really. And if she could take even a small bit of credit for Bush only having one term, she’d own it. She had a life to be proud of and a son she was proud of. And if she griped about the police not getting to her door fast enough, or bitched about how much her car cost to fix, or made sure Avery got into the best school possible (and he would get into that school), then she would have to own some of her own reality.





	Old 60's Radicals

**Title:** Old 60's Radicals  
**Author:** vegawriters  
**Fandom:** Murphy Brown  
**Rating:** General  
**Pairing:** Jake/Murphy  
**Timeframe:** Angst for the Memories (season 6)  
**Disclaimer:** Diane English is God, Candice Bergen is a queen, and I don’t make a single penny from this. In fact, I should be writing other stuff. So, of course I’m writing this. If Diane wants someone to novelize Murphy, I’m on board, but she won’t read this, so I’m also probably safe.

 **Summary:** She had made a difference. She’d changed the course of corporations and political careers with her work. An entire presidential campaign had been altered because of her, really. And if she could take even a small bit of credit for Bush only having one term, she’d own it. She had a life to be proud of and a son she was proud of. And if she griped about the police not getting to her door fast enough, or bitched about how much her car cost to fix, or made sure Avery got into the best school possible (and he would get into that school), then she would have to own some of her own reality.

By chapter two, Avery was on the wiggly side of sleepy and Murphy willingly gave up. _Technicolor Highway_ was as beautiful as she remembered, and she was glad she still had her copy and could share it with Avery. But if the last two days had taught her anything, it was that she needed to remember that her son needed to find his own way in life.

With her help, of course.

She carried him upstairs, humming something nonsensical, and settled him into his pjs and into the almost-big-boy bed he was quickly graduating to. It felt like just yesterday she’d been rocking the cradle in her bedroom. Then again, it felt like just yesterday that she’d been arm in arm with farm workers in California.

She missed Jake.

Oh, he’d have had a blast with this week. She could just see how excited he would have been.

Back then, they’d read _Technicolor Highway_ to each other - well, part of it anyway. Naked and stoned and having what they thought was the best sex of their lives. They were living the dream. Well. They were married. But other than that, it was the hippie dream.

He’d held onto it. She had to give him credit. He’d held on to his life-in-a-backpack and dedicating everything to the cause. He still wanted to change the damn world. He never would have told Avery he couldn’t do it. No, he’d have just had the lecture about how it takes everything out of you, and if you’re lucky, one or two things will change.

She waited until Avery had passed from sleepy to asleep and made her way back down the stairs. She had work to do. Her copy for next week’s story was a disaster and the living room was a mess and honestly, she just wanted to curl up by the window and read and relive a youth that she’d so believed would make a difference.

Well.

She had made a difference. She’d changed the course of corporations and political careers with her work. An entire presidential campaign had been altered because of her, really. And if she could take even a small bit of credit for Bush only having one term, she’d own it. She had a life to be proud of and a son she was proud of. And if she griped about the police not getting to her door fast enough, or bitched about how much her car cost to fix, or made sure Avery got into the best school possible (and he would get into that school), then she would have to own some of her own reality.

Even for an area around Georgetown, her neighborhood was relatively conservative. And white. Very white. For all her protesting and civil rights marches, she didn’t spend all that much time around anyone who didn’t look like her. And it wasn’t like the school she’d signed Avery up for was going to be all that diverse.

She winced.

Natural progression to conservatism or simply a reality of her economic position? Or both. Either way, it bothered her. And she let it bother her. It was supposed to bother her. It did bother her.

She tidied up, leaving the book on the coffee table for tomorrow night’s read with Avery, and tried to settle in to work. But somehow, a piece on how the stock market was impacting the economy just didn’t feel right. She needed to dig deeper. This piece was really about how the stock market economy impacted things down the food chain, in a way that trickle down economics never bothered to address. It was how the recession was only over in the richest of areas. In her area.

She winced.

What would Jake have to say about this? Well. Jake would tell her that the United States’ position on foreign intervention had led to a refugee crisis in the middle east, and that Bosnia was a blunder that could have been avoided but since it hadn’t been, why weren’t people over there building hospitals?

Jerry would just laugh at her and this dilemma. But first he’d say he was right and then he’d kiss her, so it wouldn’t be like the argument would get very far.

Where was Jake anyway? Bosnia. Yes. Bosnia. He’d been part of Peter’s piece on the situation. She’d sat there, watching the report while Avery played next to her on the couch. She’d sat there, staring into the eyes of her ex-husband, and hating every radical bone in his body. Bosnia was more important than his own son.

How conservative of her.

The house was too quiet, but music felt like an intrusion into the deep thoughts she was supposed to be having about how she’d changed as a person and soon she’d be one of those people she hated, defending centrism and saying that change was a slow process. Hell, she probably already was. God, this was why nothing ever changed.

Really, she needed to work on this story.

Really, she needed to talk to Jake.

She’d been fine until Nick Brody had waltzed into her life and upset her perfectly white liberal applecart. No. This had started sooner. This had started with Peter questioning her stance on violence on TV. When in the hell had she ever cared about that before? When had she been nervous about addressing how skin color impacted how you went through the world and how people talked to and about you? When had she started worrying about cops on her street rather than what the cops did to people who didn’t look like they belonged on her street?

No. This had been going on for a while now.

So what, she had to accept that with middle age and parenthood, how she saw the world did in fact change?

Yeah, that was a nasty, bitter pill to swallow.

Jake hadn’t swallowed it. Oh, he knew the world wasn’t getting better, but he was still fighting. What was she doing? Well. Raising their child, for one.

She had to stop sulking. She had work to do.

But first, there was something she could do.

Pushing herself off the couch, Murphy went to the bookshelf. She pulled down the small book of postcards Jake had sent to Avery from wherever he was at the time. Most were blank, white cards, with a simple note about what he was working on. She’d been saving them for when Avery was old enough, but in truth, she’d been protecting her heart. She’d never been as radical as Jake, not in tactics anyway, and her anger at him wasn’t going to save Avery any kind of pain. She also tugged down both of Jake’s books on life in the radical underground. And those, along with _Technicolor Highway_ , went into the low bookshelf in Avery’s nursery. Finally, she retreated back to the big box of 60’s memorabilia - most of which she’d thrown away - and retrieved the small photo a friend had taken of her and Jake outside the courthouse. Her hair was up in the red bandana, and Jake was holding her like the world might end if they let go.

Somehow, that felt fitting. Somehow they needed each other - he needed to pull her back, always, toward the radical left and she needed to be that grounded, pragmatic activist she’d been even then. She’d planned to tuck the photo in her dresser drawer with the other little mementos she had of him, but instead she took it back up to Avery’s room and put it on the small corner shelf above his bed.

“Back when your mom and dad were too young to know any better,” she whispered. He babbled lightly and fell into a deeper sleep. Tears touched Murphy’s eyes. She ran a hand over his hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you know him. Or at least, what he stands for.”

There. She felt better somehow. Lighter.

On silent feet she retreated back to the den and settled at her desk. She had work to do. And she had a different perspective to approach it from. After all, life had changed since the 60’s and she had a job to do. One she was good at. And one that reminded her, daily, of what her values really were.


End file.
